Shoot the Winter Soldier
by The Physicist
Summary: The Winter Soldier wants his memories back and seeks Steve's help, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wants him dead — so Steve tries to stop the bullets with his own body. Soon enough they both find themselves in Eastern Europe on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the other Avengers. But is Steve really ready for a life of crime, even if it is all to help the love of his life? (Cap 2 spoilers)
1. Chapter 1

**Relationship:** James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers  
**Other Characters:** Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury  
**Additional Tags and Warnings:** Work In Progress, Warnings May Change, trigger warning: suicide, Trigger warning: strangulation, Trigger warning: internalized homophobia, trigger warning: homophobia, trigger warning: internalized intersexphobia, trigger warning: intersexphobia, violence, intersex!Steve, Intersex, Action & Romance, winter soldier - Freeform, post - Avengers Movie, Eastern Europe

* * *

**Shoot the Winter Soldier**

"Kiss me," the man demanded from Steve with only a tinge of breathlessness in his voice. The moonlight streaming in through the broken skylights of the abandoned warehouse glinted off what looked to be armor covering his left arm — his masked face remained in the shadows. He was leaning against a dusty workbench.

The nature of the request had Steve skidding to a halt several feet away from him. "What?"

Even as he asked the question he cursed for allowing himself to be caught off guard, because the man exploited the situation to pull out a revolver and aimed it squarely between Steve's eyes. Without his shield there was little he could do to defend himself. As he slowly raised his hands above his head he brushed them past his pocket and tapped a button on an electronic plastic card he kept there. His heart was thumping against his ribcage — super-serum or not a bullet to the brain would kill him. He willed himself to relax his stance. Even as his vision focused in on the barrel of the gun he tried to get a sense of his surroundings. The silence in the darkness of the old brick building was almost complete but for the sounds of their breathing. S.H.I.E.L.D. might not get to him in time.

"I believe we were lovers in a past life," the man said eventually. "My memories were taken from me and you're the only link. Something familiar may help me recover them." He lowered his arm slowly and placed the gun on the work bench with a heavy thud.

Steve lowered his arms to his side and let out the breath he'd been holding. His heart was still beating far too fast, but the tension in his stomach eased. Could he have poison on his lips? Steve briefly wondered. There was no way in hell was he going to let the guy kiss him of course, but he was curious who the masked man was — he knew that voice, he was sure. Another reason to pretend to agree with the demand was that his opponent would be a lot easier to take out if he got close to Steve. Not to mention that Steve really wanted to know what on God's Earth was going on.

When he'd returned to his Brooklyn apartment after a meeting with Tony Stark he'd found the door ajar. He'd caught a glimpse of the intruder as he'd leapt out of the bedroom window and Steve had dashed to follow him, not knowing what the thief might have taken. Hurtling through back alleys, dodging traffic, and leaping across rooftops had finally brought them to this abandoned industrial lot — the chase had also left Steve with no illusions: the guy was not a common burglar. The agility and skill he'd displayed were superior even to the kind you normally gained from special ops training and Steve had rued not having his shield on him to knock some wind out of the guy. Maybe he was ex-CIA? The gun, even placed openly out on the table as it was, made Steve wary of making any rash movements.

"You'll have to remove your mask," Steve said when the man made no move to force a kiss on him.

The man barked out a short laugh, but took off his mask and placed it on the bench alongside the gun. Steve still couldn't get a good look at his face and the man strode through the illuminated area between them too quickly — one moment his face was lit up by the moon, the next it was in the shadows again and too close for Steve to focus on. But the quick glance that Steve had gotten was enough to knock the air out of his lungs as a flash of familiarity struck him to the core. His eyes went wide and he found himself frozen on the spot. He couldn't imagine that the guy actually had a point with his talk of 'lovers in a past life', but on the other hand the man's hot breath was all around him and he was still unable to step back. Gun oil and metal polish, his nose said; a sniper, he found himself suddenly thinking. His senses had apparently decided to pass the majority of their information directly to his gut, by-passing his conscious thoughts entirely. The presence of this man was as familiar to Steve as the palm of his own hand and he hadn't a clue who he was.

Tentative fingers on Steve's cheek told him that he wasn't the only one overwhelmed by the other's proximity. When the man pressed their lips together Steve didn't resist and allowed the sniper to taste him. Tears pricked his eyes as his subconscious finally decided to share its insights with him in one name: Bucky. He barked out a strangled laugh at the cruel trick the company of a sniper — clearly not his sniper — were playing on him. Distantly he was aware of the roaring sound of a helicopter overhead as search lights lit up the interior of the building. Their breaths were still mingling in the space between them.

Footsteps. S.H.I.E.L.D. must have the building surrounded, Steve thought. The sniper took a couple of steps backwards. "Steve?" he asked, voice trembling. A flashlight illuminated his face and despite the shoulder-length hair and the kohl around his eyes it was Bucky's face, straight out of one of his nightmares where Bucky was falling down a ravine and he couldn't catch him.

There was a red laser spot on Bucky's chest and as Steve looked up he caught sight of an agent at the far end of the warehouse giving a hand sign. He launched himself at Bucky and cried out as the bullet lanced through his own chest hot and sharp instead. The last thing he felt were Bucky's strong arms around him, holding on tight.

* * *

**One month previously**

"Thanks for the tips, Tony," Steve said, carding a hand through his hair for the tenth time in the last five minutes.

"Yeah, well, let's just say I have some experience with the whole media circuit, so I just wanted to make sure the goons at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s P.R. department didn't screw you over somehow. But don't worry, the media love you, you're Captain America!"

"It was all a bit different back in my day. Just got used to press conferences here in the future and now they've got me doing this: sitting on a couch in front of a studio audience... Jeffrey said there might be 'private' questions." Steve grimaced, but Tony laughed.

"They're not going to accuse you have having a secret love child with the President's wife or whether you slept with Wolverine or what not!Trust me, they're going to be nice to you. Questions like that are what people like me get."

"Why would they ask you—?"

"Never mind," Tony said, "I'll explain later. You're on now though."

The interview was going well. He'd been through his lines with Jeffrey and others from the P.R. department many times and so he knew how to answer the difficult questions with regards to his role at S.H.I.E.L.D. and his part in the Avengers initiative. In a way he was glad for the time he'd spent on the show pony circuit, as it made all this easier.

"Now, onto something more personal," the interviewer said, still smiling sweetly. Steve tensed up. It would be something about Peggy. That's what Jeffrey had said.

"How are you coping with life in this century?"

He raked his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes: piles of damaged boxing sacks.

"It's taking a while to adjust, but I'll get there," he said. "Still have a lot of history to catch up on."

"Yes," the interviewer said, turning to address the studio audience, "we have to remember, he's only been here, what? Two months?"

Steve knew he should probably put on some kind of charming, faux-apologetic smile at this point, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on his surroundings. There were noises all around, but they didn't seem important. They sounded as alien as the speech of the Chitauri and at the same time as familiar as the sound of a dripping tap. He fumbled his way through the final few questions.

Tony grabbed his arm when it was all over. "You okay? You look a bit dazed."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look it. Everyone else will be at Stark Tower tonight, ready to discuss the latest intel from S.H.I.E.L.D. early tomorrow morning. I've got plenty of spare rooms. You should stay over too."

He nodded. Anything to stop Tony talking right now.

"Okay, great!" Tony went on, "I'll have a room prepared for you! Clint mentioned something about a game of poker—"

"Sounds great. I've got a meeting with Agent Sitwell in an hour, so I really have to be off," Steve said to get away.

When he stepped through the doors of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Time Square building the first thing he did was to cancel his meeting with Sitwell.

* * *

It wasn't fair! Steve thought as he buried his fists in the crisp sheets on Tony's guest bed. People were meant to get at least a year before having to deal with such a date, but he'd only had two months. Well, around seven decades and two months. Today had been that day. The day on which he'd failed to grab hold of Bucky's hand. To everyone else, though, it had just been another ordinary date in the calendar. The evening had been ordinary, with Clint cracking jokes over cards, Bruce drinking beer, and Natasha... she'd even smiled. Only Tony had seemed subdued, which wasn't surprising. He liked to spend most of his time in the labs and so his mind hadn't been on the cards.

Steve glanced at the cushions on the bed. So often him and Bucky had laid their rolls out on hard European soil... a bed like this was a luxury he'd not even dared dream of back then. But if he'd let himself wish, this bed was just about as close to perfect as he could have imagined. He eyed it as if it might sprout fangs. He couldn't even enjoy a luxury like this anymore. Sleep wasn't the savior it should be — it was the enemy. In his nightmares Bucky sat on a gravestone, hurling insults at him. Bucky was falling: from planes, from buildings... from the train. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes the nightmares were ready, having had all day to plan their ambush carefully.

He rested his elbows on his thighs and put his head in his hands. He could do this. It was just one more night... an infinity of future nights lined up ahead of him in his mind — an endless row of dominoes made of gravestones. The black sports bag he'd taken to work that day remained untouched at the foot of his bed. He went to the bathroom, all the time avoiding looking at the bag, and washed his face with cold water. When he came back into the bedroom the black bag was still there. It won the staring contest and he took out a small paper bag from inside it. He had to know now. Either go through with it or... not, and then forever put it out of his mind.

The capsules felt light and rubbery in the palm of his hand. No one had questioned him when he'd put in the requisitioning order — no one questioned Captain America. Captain America made good choices, after all. He wasn't screwed up, he wasn't a man who lived in hell every day out of some sense of duty to the world. The pills or punching bags. He could take the gym apart again – for the rest of his life – punching bags for the rest of his life in between missions... or the pills.

"Are those cyanide pills, sir?"

Steve jumped at the sound of the invisible butler's voice. He clenched his hand around the pills to hide them, as much good as that would do now. How did he reply to Jarvis? Did he have to reply at all? He looked up at the ceiling, but Jarvis had gone quiet. Slowly he uncurled his clammy fist again, staring at the pills there. One of them would be enough to kill an ordinary human and he had three in his hand.

He got up and headed for the bathroom. It wasn't that he didn't have a place in the future; here with the Avengers he could make a difference. They'd just saved the world from an alien invasion and yet... the world had gone back to normal already — well, whatever passed for 'normal' in the future.

Steve poured himself a glass of water. He'd never been selfish. Not really.

There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them.

Bucky had been killed. Not two days later he'd died too. They'd both laid down their lives. And then these assholes at S.H.I.E.L.D. had brought him back into this world. They should've left him in the ice. What right did they think they had to mess with God's plan?

He sat down on the bed again. The water was cold and cleansing as it soothed his tight throat. He finished it all in one go. The pills were still in his hand. And then he knew that he wasn't going to break them in his mouth. Not now, not ever. And tears slid down his cheeks as a mixture of relief and bloody minded determination spread from the pit of his stomach to the rest of his body. Life wouldn't be easy, but when had it ever been? His ma had carried on after his father had died and the other Avengers—

At that moment Clint, Tony, Natasha and Bruce crashed into his room, Tony almost tripping over himself to get to Steve. When he did he grabbed Steve's wrist and knocked the pills from his hand. Steve felt the heat rise to his face. Shit.

"Jarvis said—"

Steve cut Tony off. "He shouldn't have said a damned thing. Your building shouldn't be spying on me!"

"I've been where you are now." Bruce held his hands up in a placating gesture. "You know I have. Let us help you."

"Make sure he doesn't have any weapons on him," Clint told Tony. Before Tony could act on that Steve had leaped off the bed.

"What?! I don't need a damned weapon to kill myself, I am a weapon," he shouted and even as he did he willed himself to calm down, but the emotions were tearing through his body. He didn't deserve to have this moment invaded, didn't want to end up sectioned and in some empty cell at S.H.I.E.L.D. on suicide watch. There was no way he was going to take his own life, he'd just needed to know that for sure... he was allowed to be human, wasn't he?

"He's right, you know," Bruce said, addressing Clint as if Steve wasn't in the room. "He could break his own neck any time he wanted too."

Steve's eyes went wide and he turned to face Tony. "Well, yes, I could, but—"

He never got to finish his sentence as Bruce knocked him out cold.

* * *

**Present day**

Steve woke up with an intubation tube down his parched throat and another tube disappearing into his chest on the left side. The room was almost unbearably noisy and someone was telling him to breathe, which he thought was odd, since he normally didn't have to think about breathing. Once he took a few breaths the noise died down some. He slipped in and out of consciousness. When he next woke up they removed the tubes, which he decided was probably a good sign. He looked around: some sort of hospital room. Ah, yes, he'd been shot. Because... Bucky had tried to break into his flat, pulled a gun on him, and told him to kiss him.

Shit.

Of course it hadn't actually been Bucky. Bucky was dead. He sucked in a ragged breath — this was it, he'd lost his mind, hadn't he? He'd thought things had been getting better. The nightmares were still a regular occurrence, just as bad as always, but he'd been dealing better... or so he'd thought. But it had all caught up with him now, hadn't it?

An hour or so later Tony and Fury showed up at his bedside.

"Fuck, Steve, it's good to see you. We really thought we'd lost you there," Tony said, a shaky grin plastered across his face.

"Good to see you too," Steve replied hoarsely.

Fury stepped closer. "Glad you made it. I have to ask though, why did you throw yourself into the path of a bullet to protect an assassin?" There was an edge to his voice that could have cut through panzer shielding in a microsecond.

I thought it was my dead best friend, was probably not going to cut it. He suppressed a sigh. Not after last month. Actually, no explanation would cut it after that incident. He tried to swallow past the lump forming in this throat to say something, but there wasn't anything he could think to tell Fury.

"I told you he wasn't well enough to be questioned yet," Tony snapped.

Fury didn't reply to that, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of dog tags — Steve's dog tags.

"You might want to think about wearing the new set we gave you. They stopped issuing these types of tags in 1941," Fury said. He placed them on Steve's stomach, turned on his heel, and exited the room with a swish of his coat.

Steve caught Tony eyeing them. "They're the ones they pulled off me after they thawed me out."

"May I?" Tony asked and Steve bit the inside of his lip, but he nodded slowly in reply. He watched Tony's eyebrows rise up his forehead as he inspected the tags.

"So on one of the dog tags we have: Rogers, Steve," Tony read out, "14047 Brooklyn Street, NY. And then on the other tag we have Barnes, James B. and below that we have your name. That second spot's for next of kin, isn't it? Same address too."

There was a long moment of silence between them until Tony cleared his throat. "You know, if the therapy sessions here at S.H.I.E.L.D. aren't helping you, I can give you the numbers of a couple of excellent therapists. There's doctor Shah, she's brilliant with... uh... what I mean is, and I have to be frank here, we can't have you running into bullets trying to get yourself killed so you can be all emo and join your best friend in death. Because you can get through this, even if it doesn't seem that way at the moment."

Steve shook his head. "I wasn't trying to get myself killed."

The conversation came to a halt as last month hung heavy in the air between both of them.

"I thought I saw him today," Steve said. "I thought the assassin was him." It wasn't a better explanation, it didn't paint his mental state in a rosier light, but it was the truth.

"Have your nightmares been getting worse again?" Tony asked.

Steve shook his head.

"Could you put 'em 'round my neck?" Steve indicated at the dog tags with a glance.

Tony helped him put them on and Steve didn't much care if the nurses took them off him again, for now the cold metal on his skin reminded him of reality.

"After he was killed they gave me a bag with his belongings," Steve said, clenching his fists at his side. He didn't normally talk to the other Avengers about Bucky, but he needed to now (again), to assure them (once more) that it was grief at his death that was tearing him apart mentally, not a lack of support from Tony or the other Avengers.

"There wasn't anything much in the bag apart from clothes and toiletries," he continued. "Found an old dog tag though. I... I didn't know he'd listed me as his next of kin. I'd put 'none' on my form. And he'd kept that first set of dog tags they'd issued him. Maybe it was because the new ones didn't mention your next of kin, maybe it was some other reason."

"He meant a lot to you, eh? You know, there's something I've been meaning to...," Tony said, trailing off when Steve clenched his jaw and angled his face away.

"What?" Tony huffed.

"Sorry, guess I'm just not used to talking about... well. What were you gonna say?"

Tony fixed his eyes on a point somewhere on the wall behind Steve. "I, well, last month got me thinking, and I was going to say something eventually, but now this? I know you're a complete prude, probably don't believe in sex before marriage, and yes, maybe you do only chase skirts. You'll probably think this is complete over-share. Maybe you'll even feel like throwing up, I can't be sure, but just in case this is something you need to hear someone say... I've had sex with men. I even dated a guy for a couple of days, which might not sound like much, but that was back in the days before Pepper when I didn't really go in for that whole commitment thing and — Steve?"

Steve had closed his eyes.

"Yeah, well." Tony said, his voice hard. "There are some things about this century you're just going to have to get used to."

Steve could hear Tony's footsteps and the sound of the door opening.

"Thank you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure it was loud enough, but it was all he could manage, his throat tight with emotion.

In an instant Tony was back at his side.

"I mean, there's a lot I don't understand," Tony said to fill the silence, realizing that Steve needed a moment to catch himself. "I don't know what you've been through and certainly when I grew up... it wasn't 'okay', but it was better than in the 30s and 40s, I'm sure."

"I know I should've trusted you all, but it's not something we could be open about, you know?"

"Yeah, you don't have to explain," Tony said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Remind me to give you Kiesler's number. Very good therapist. He's gay. You might click better with him when it comes to talking about Bucky."

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," Steve said quietly. "Thanks." And he meant it. Maybe this was something he could get through after all.

* * *

Dmitri Ulanov strode into the conference room where Fury and Natasha were already waiting for him.

"Dr. Ulanov," Fury said by way of greeting. "You said you had something to say regarding the Winter Soldier?"

"Yes," Dmitri replied. He clasped his hands behind his back and willed himself to relax — Natasha was a keen observer and although he'd fooled her many times in the past, he couldn't allow any complacency now. "The issue is that the techniques I will most likely need to use to remove the Winter Soldier's command to assassinate Captain America originated in the Red Room. The techniques could be used to program the Winter Soldier or to brainwash others. Now I know," he said holding up one of his hands in front of him, "that S.H.I.E.L.D. databases are very secure and our agents trustworthy, however, I can't in clear conscience use my skills on the Winter Soldier if there are any observers or any recordings. I am deeply ashamed of my past involvement in this project and wish that all knowledge I have on it dies with me."

"I appreciate your position, but that's against protocol. There's regular therapy of course. Or we may have to consider... 'other options'."

At that Natasha shot Fury the kind of look that made it clear she had just calculated at least a dozen different ways to end his life right there and then. Since 'other options' included a variety of methods for quietly disposing of the Winter Soldier, Dmitri was all for them, but Natasha... how far would she go to protect the Winter Soldier?

"I would not advise allowing him to wake up. No regular therapy," Dmitri urged. "The man was a highly trained assassin even before becoming the Winter Soldier. He became the Winter Soldier only after he had his memories wiped and underwent extensive brainwashing and mental programming back in the 1940s to make him unquestioningly loyal to the Soviets alone, no one else. Now there's no Soviet Union, so General Lukin had to reprogram him of course." He turned to Natasha. "The Winter Soldier wouldn't remember you. To reprogram him, Lukin will have had to wipe his memories again. And I think he must've made a mess of his mind in the process. Captain America was lucky, but we can't rely on luck."

"Doctor, let me talk to him," Natasha cut in, looking straight at Dmitri, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This was going to be the most difficult part. Fury was also giving him a measuring look.

"Agent, the man you knew is gone." Dmitri turned to Fury. "He's currently sedated and in a high security holding cell, but I think you, more than anyone else, know what he's capable of. If we wake him now he might escape. It'll be risky even after I deprogram him, but less so. Agent Romanov, once I've deprogrammed him you can talk to him, not before."

Naked anger was visible in Natasha's eyes. She took a small step forward, but Fury spoke before she did.

"I agree, this is a unique situation. Get everything you need and start immediately. I'll have some agents move the Winter Soldier to room 553b — there's no surveillance in that room."

"Thank you, Director Fury. And Natasha, I really am sorry. I know Yasha trained you and that you were... close. I promise you I'll do my best to break General Lukin's hold over him."

As soon as Fury dismissed him he hurried out of the room and towards the closest rest room. He needed a few minutes to compose himself again after that meeting. It had gone well though, exceptionally so, and he allowed a tight smile to flash across his lips.

* * *

Dmitri screwed the needle onto the syringe and pulled a small vial out of his jacket pocket. He regarded the two items in his hand carefully. All he would need to do to end this now was inject the poison into the Winter Soldier's veins — Yasha wouldn't feel a thing. And this chemical couldn't be detected with any standard test. However, S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't any kind of place. It wouldn't be suspicious for him to inject the Winter Soldier with something, but if Yasha died, he'd have to be very clear about everything he'd done to him. Not because of Fury, Fury would be glad to see him dead, but Natasha would dig and dig. And she had allies here, such as Bruce Banner. Banner might be able to find a way to detect the poison. And then, most importantly, there was Captain America, who'd seen Yasha's face... and then thankfully been shot and was still out cold as far as he was aware.

When he'd defected to the Americans almost three decades ago he'd been upfront with S.H.I.E.L.D. about his involvement in the Winter Soldier project. When it came to the exact details of his involvement in it he'd been a little bit more liberal with the truth, though. Because there were some crimes the Americans would not forgive.

If he killed Yasha then there was no risk that Yasha would remember him and no one would find out about his past. He also risked spending the rest of his life in jail for murder, which was the exact situation he was trying to avoid. The alternative was also risky and it involved an additional death. Dmitri closed his eyes and tried to care about the life of Captain America, but eventually he slipped the vial back into his pocket and stepped up to the operating table on which the Winter Soldier was restrained.

Yasha's cries were muffled by the gag Dmitri had placed on him, but they still made him flinch. He didn't enjoy the torture he was inflicting, but it was necessary to shock the brain into a programmable state.

Dmitri loosened the gag slightly and then pressed his lips to Yasha's ears. It wasn't that he thought Fury didn't trust him in particular, but Fury didn't trust anyone. There was likely some sort of audio recording device in the room at the very least. He turned up the dial and Yasha started to thrash against his restraints and then when he started shouting Dmitri whispered the commands.  
"Your target is an American man. His name is Captain Steve Rogers," he said in Russian, confident that his whispers could not be heard above the strangled screams the electroshocks were tearing from the Winter Soldier's throat. With Steve Rogers dead there'd be no one left alive who could link the Winter Solider to James B. Barnes, serial number 986354310 of 14047 Brooklyn Street, NY. He couldn't allow S.H.I.E.L.D. to have that knowledge, because if they knew that, they wouldn't simply be looking to deprogram him, no, they'd poke around in his mind until they retrieved all his memories.

It took a couple of minutes to give Yasha the entire mission brief and only after that did he turn down the dial on the electrodes.

On his laptop a lot of indicators were flashing in red. He grimaced — maybe he'd over-done it. It didn't much matter though, he told himself. If he'd stirred memories of previously wiped missions... the minute the Winter Soldier assassinated Captain America Fury would stop at nothing until the Winter Soldier was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Relationship:** James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers  
**Other Characters:** Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury  
**Additional Tags and Warnings:** Work In Progress, Warnings May Change, trigger warning: suicide, Trigger warning: strangulation, Trigger warning: internalized homophobia, trigger warning: homophobia, trigger warning: internalized intersexphobia, trigger warning: intersexphobia, violence, intersex!Steve, Intersex, Action & Romance, winter soldier - Freeform, post - Avengers Movie, Eastern Europe

* * *

Steve's doctor had shrugged her shoulders and discharged him. "You should by all accounts be dead and here you are: walking around again. If you say you feel fine I'm just going to have to trust you, because normally we'd keep someone with such a wound in for at least another four days. But you're... different."

He'd quickly thanked her and left before she could change her mind. Now Clint and him were having dinner in the helicarrier's main mess.

"—and then Natasha destroyed a punching bag. She was furious, I tell you," Clint said.

"What's her connection to this assassin and what do we know about him?"

Clint put down his fork. "Fury didn't tell you anything?"

"Nothing except that he's an assassin. I'd only just come round and still need to talk to him properly," Steve replied.

"His code name is the Winter Soldier," Clint started and it took a while until Steve was up to speed on everything. At the end of Clint's explanation Steve had lost his appetite.

"I really need to talk to Fury," he said, standing up quickly.

"What?" Clint said, shoving his own tray to one side.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. If the Winter Soldier was his contemporary... he shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind.

"I have to talk to Fury first," Steve said. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure—"

Clint's arm shot forward, grabbed Steve's collar, and pulled him down as plates smashed on the ground while agents all around them reached for their weapons.

"Winter Soldier," Clint said. "Seems the reprogramming was unsuccessful. Let's get you out of here."

"He wasn't trying to kill me," Steve protested as a bullet embedded itself in the wall behind them.

Clint crawled past him to get a better look at the action. Several agents were fighting the Winter Soldier at once.

"No? What was he trying to do then? Ask you out on a date?" He gave Steve an all clear sign with his hand.

"Who told you that?" Steve asked, darting past Clint. "I'm gonna grab my shield."

"Good idea!"

Alarms were sounding as he dashed for the room he'd been told his shield was in. It had better be there, he thought. He felt a pain in his side. Down two floors, then first door on the right, he told himself. Not far now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a stitch from running — although considering he'd had open heart surgery yesterday, maybe he shouldn't be so shocked.  
He leapt down the final few steps, threw open the heavy glass doors at the bottom of the stairwell and stumbled into the corridor beyond. There was his shield. And in its cover was the Winter Soldier, gun at the ready, aimed straight at him. For a moment their eyes locked and that minute display of hesitation by the assassin was enough to allow Steve to throw himself backwards at the doors again. A hail of bullets smashed into the reinforced glass. Steve leapt for cover, but one of the bullets grazed his right biceps. The guy certainly looked a bit like Bucky, he thought.

His heart was protesting furiously in his chest and he braced himself against a wall to catch his breath. The gun fire had ceased so he ventured a look into the corridor again. It was empty. He allowed himself one more deep breath to steady himself and then he bolted after the assassin.

The chase led Steve out onto the deck of the helicarrier. The Winter Soldier seemed to have his eyes set on one of the jets — its back hatch was open. Oh no you don't, Steve thought. The image of the assassin making off with his shield was enough to give him the energy to propel himself across the deck. While the Winter Soldier had to fight off agents, Steve's path was clear. The Winter Soldier was already on the plane and it was starting to move when Steve reached it. He threw himself onto the hatch as it started to close. His chest was painfully tight and his hearing seemed to be on its way out. He scrunched his eyes closed and counted to ten while taking deep breaths. Then he sprang up and bolted for the cockpit, hoping the sound of the jet engines would mask his footsteps.

"If you take me on now this plane'll crash and we'll both die," the Winter Soldier stated, not even turning around when Steve hurtled into the cockpit. The plane was in full ascent now.

"I've survived a plane crash before. I think I'll take my chances." Steve grabbed the assassin's shoulder with one hand and reached for his shield with the other.

The Winter Soldier turned to face him. "You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

Steve gasped, let go of the other man's shoulder, and braced himself on the co-pilot seat. So he hadn't been mistaken in the warehouse, dim light and all. He was aware his mouth was hanging open, but it took him a few moments to convince himself that his eyes weren't lying to him.

"Bucky," he said eventually. It was all he could think to say, as Bucky being alive eclipsed all other thoughts in his mind.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" The Winter Soldier knitted his brows. "Hold on tight!"

Steve increased his grip on the co-pilot seat as the plane banked sharply. Then he wished he was strapped into the seat as the jet went into a nosedive. He was reminded of that rollercoaster Bucky had made him ride — he hoped that this time he wouldn't throw up his dinner.

Bucky hadn't been able to fly a plane, but the Winter Soldier clearly knew how to. His maneuvers were hair-raisingly reckless and yet at the same time Steve felt like they were in safe hands. He didn't say anything so as not to distract Bucky... well, so as not to distract the Winter Soldier. He hadn't cared about the possibility of a plane crash before, but now Bucky's life was also at stake.

After what felt like an age they'd shaken off their pursuers and were heading over the open ocean to who knew where.

"Where're you taking us?" Steve asked. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had operatives in most countries, if he could only get word to them—

"Don't even think about it. You think I don't know what's on your mind?" Bucky squared his shoulders. His mannerisms, his speech patterns... all of it was Bucky. Only the cold glint in his eyes and the set of his jaw allowed Steve to keep in mind that who he was talking to was not the man he'd known.

"Look, I know you can't remember your life before they did this to you." And as he said that he motioned at Bucky's metal arm, which Clint had told him was a bionic prosthetic. "You want your memories back, right? I wanna help you get them back. S.H.I.E.L.D. can help—"

Bucky engaged autopilot and turned to face Steve. "They want you dead."

"What?" He stopped himself from saying any more, reminding himself of what Clint had said about the Winter Soldier's mind having been programmed wrong or something.

"They programmed me to kill you."

Steve gave him a measuring stare. "No, they didn't," he said slowly and clearly. "You need help. Your mind is a mess."

"I know that," Bucky bellowed. His chest and shoulders were visibly rising and falling with each breath he was taking. Without even thinking about it Steve had raised one of his hands. He stopped himself from reaching out and touching Bucky with it.

"We'll get your memories back," he said instead. "Somehow. We can do this."

"But unless you listen to me, we're both going to die. Because right now, I thing I want most in the world is to see you dead."

Steve winced. "We can undo the brainwashing. And you ain't killed me yet!"

"So shut up and stop tempting me. When I came to less than an hour ago I was inside S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities. There was a man sitting next to the table I was strapped to who looked familiar. Don't know who he was, but there was a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on his shirt and I know he told me to kill you."

Steve shook his head. "That was probably Dr. Ulanov who was trying to help you."

"He told me to assassinate you. Gave me a whole brief." Bucky put his head in his hands. "Leave now."

"Where to?"

"Just leave the cockpit!" he shouted.

Steve took his shield and retreated slowly, remembering what Bucky had said about wanting him dead. And then the cockpit door closed and he collapsed onto the floor on the other side of it, unable and unwilling to put any more distance between himself and the man who was and wasn't Bucky at the same time. He wanted to punch something, he wanted to scream, and he wanted to pull Bucky close and never let him go... but he couldn't do any of those things. The deep breaths he was sucking into his lungs to calm himself were turning ragged and he wasn't sure if the pain in his chest was due to the surgery or due to the man on the other side of the door.

"Bucky," he whispered, "I'll save you this time. I won't fail you again, promise."

* * *

Bucky finally landed the jet, but he hadn't told Steve where. The morning sun was still struggling to make it over the horizon and the cornfield Steve had just stepped out into was damp with dew.

Steve shouldered his shield. "What now?"

"We walk and I try not to kill you," Bucky said, barging past him, not looking back over his shoulder, even when Steve didn't follow him. If Steve dashed into the cockpit now he could send a message to S.H.I.E.L.D. . Bucky was still resolutely walking forward. Steve took a deep breath and started jogging to catch up with him.

The air was fresh with the smells of nature. It reminded him of the war. Before then he'd never spent much time outside of the city and it was different in New York's parks than it was out in the European countryside.

"A general named Lukin was givin' me orders a couple of months ago," Bucky said. "But I left. Don't think I would've been able to if he'd treated me the way S.H. .D. did. Didn't know anything about my life though, just knew I wanted to get away from him."

"Must've been really scary, I'm sorry."

Bucky gave him a sidelong glance. "I realized pretty quickly I could do a lot of things, like... kill people."

They crossed a small stream and came upon a dirt road, which they followed. The whole situation felt surreal. He noted that Bucky's hand was clenching and unclenching around a holstered gun. Steve dropped back a bit so he was just out of Bucky's immediate field of view, but not walking directly behind him either. After a while the hand fell away from the gun and Steve tried to pick up the conversation again.

"You remembered me though? When you left Lukin?"

"No. I saw a photo of us in a glossy magazine — but it said it was from the Second World War."

Steve looked over at Bucky and studied his face. He looked a couple of years older at most. A lump started forming in his throat as he thought of what the Red Room had done to him, twisting the best man he knew into his worst nightmare.

"Wasn't hard to find some punk who was good with a computer and needed a favor," Bucky continued.

Although the sun was now high enough in the sky to start warming the air Steve felt as if the temperature had just dropped several degrees. He didn't want to dwell on what kind of favor exactly Bucky might be talking about, but... had Bucky actually assassinated someone in exchange for a Google search?

"He found the photo on the internet, where it said the guy standing next you was James Barnes. He also hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. and retrieved the file of James B. Barnes for me."

"Your S.S.R. file?"

"Yeah, well I wasn't sure if it was really me or not." He had a smirk on his lips. "Well, Bane, that computer kid, he said: 'Dude, there's no waythose two were just friends. No one lists their flat mate as their next of kin.' He got me your file too. We had an apartment together in the States before the war and one note on the file said we also shared a tent during the war. So I came straight to New York to find you. I could tell I knew you, and so I had to be James Barnes... and from the kiss I could tell that Bane was right." Bucky's eyes were full of humor.

Steve looked away. This was Bucky next to him, amnesiac though he may be. But if he thought of him as Bucky now, then what about those times when he'd killed for the Soviets, for Lukin? He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to clear his mind. The most important thing right now was to help Bucky get his memories back, but there were a lot of other things that they'd have to work through after that.

The dirt road had led them out of the fields and to the edge of a wood, but Bucky chose not to walk through it, so they left the road in favor of a muddy footpath that led around it. Eventually the landscape changed: mountains loomed in the distance and the land seemed wilder. From the vegetation he guessed they were somewhere along the Adriatic. But the bunkers — God the bunkers!

"They're everywhere!" Steve exclaimed as they passed another several dozen along the roadside. He could see more in the distance, on hill tops, in the middle of cabbage fields, and clustered along any natural ridge in the landscape.

Bucky nodded. "Good to evade prying eyes and infra-red heat sensors."

"Are these from a European war I missed while in deep-freeze?"

"They weren't built because of war, just some dictator's paranoia. There's a larger complex in those mountains. Should hopefully still have weapons and supplies in it."

"When were you last here?"

"In the early 1980's. Assassinated three generals." His voice was cold and hard. "Got those memories back just after I woke up in that S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. That's why I took us here."

"The jet has a tracker on it," Steve said. "S.H.I.E.L.D. know where we landed."

"That's why I ditched the jet. If we get to the mountains undetected we can hide there 'til S.H.I.E.L.D. give up lookin' for us."

Bucky stopped short and Steve almost ran into him.

"What's up?" Steve asked, but instead of replying Bucky grabbed his arm and dragged him off the road and into one of the deserted bunkers. Bucky was strong — far stronger than Steve remembered him and although he could have resisted, he realized he'd have to hurt Bucky to do so.

The domed structure was made entirely of thick concrete and was little more than a shell. When Steve tried to speak again Bucky pulled him close, clamped a hand over his mouth and pressed him down onto the ground. Then he heard it: the sound of a Quinjet passing overhead. As he willed his body to be still he felt a cold, hard edge against his side. If he struggled out of Bucky's grip, the knife would slice him open, though he reasoned that he could probably survive that, since he'd be able to alert S.H.I.E.L.D. before he bled out.

"If they spot me, they'll aim to kill me, as they did in the warehouse," Bucky whispered, as if sensing Steve's thoughts. "Especially after I shot at you." His voice was strained and his flesh and bone hand was starting to shake. Steve didn't reply until several minutes after the Quinjet had moved on from their location.

"I think you can let go of me now," he said, trying to project a calmness into his voice that he didn't feel. He knew it wasn't Bucky trying to kill him, knew it was the brainwashing, and that made it hurt less, but it still hurt that the one person he'd always looked to for safety and comfort... that person was holding him in his arms right now, not to take care of him, but to stab a knife into his side and spill his guts all over the grassy floor of an abandoned bunker somewhere along the Adriatic coast. It was all his fault really, he told himself. If he'd just been able to rescue Bucky from falling, the way Bucky had saved his sorry ass a hundred times before both in Brooklyn and during the war...

The knife fell to the floor with a dull thud. "Don't know if I ever went against orders before," Bucky said, hanging his head. "It just... it doesn't make sense to let you live, even though I know it's what someone else wants me to do — I want you alive! What use are you to me dead? I need to know who I am. But to let you live, it's like... me suddenly deciding not to breathe."

Steve found himself fighting back tears. "You're doing well."

"And you're out of your mind for following me. Should've knocked me out just now when you had the chance. Knew you wouldn't of course. You ain't got a sense of self-preservation."

"That's why my shield has a big, colorful target painted onto it."

Steve couldn't help but smile when that got a short chuckle from the other man.

"Heh, so the paintjob was your stupid idea?" Bucky asked.

Steve unstrapped the shield from his back and wiped some dirt off it. "Here, take it. They won't be shooting at me after all."

"Have I used it before?" Bucky stood up and held it in front of him and the sight caused Steve to dig his fingers into the earth where he was sitting.

"Let's go." Steve grabbed the bag Bucky had been carrying as he hurried out of the bunker's cool shade. From then on they stayed off the roads and dashed from bunker to bunker, always checking first that both the sky and the landscape were clear.

The mountains were looming closer now and Steve peered out of the bunker they'd just entered to spy out the next one. Ahead he saw one which was near a rusting railway bridge that spanned a wide river bed consisting mainly of shingle with only the occasional rivulet of water flowing in it.

"Hold on," Bucky hissed.

Steve couldn't hear anything, but he stayed put. He followed Bucky's line of sight and there on a rocky outcrop to their left were three figures.

"One local civilian and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," Bucky whispered. "We'll have to wait until they move on... or take them out if they start checking all the bunkers here."

"We're not gonna kill anyone."

"They're walking in our direction. It'd be the easiest thing to just shoot them."

"No!"

"What if I only killed them a little?" Bucky nudged one of his elbows into Steve's side before he could reply. "We can't run — best we can hope for is that they do a sloppy job of searching for us. How do you feel about the old hide-on-the-ceiling trick?"

Steve agreed and while the rough concrete of the domed roof dug into Steve's palms, the worn walls provided enough handholds to keep himself up. His arms were tiring after only a couple of minutes and he hated to think about the strain this was putting on Bucky. If Bucky fell, at least he'd fall with the Captain America shield bright and visible on his back, which would hopefully stop anyone from shooting at him straight away. The footsteps were drawing closer.

"This one's also clear," an agent said, poking his head in briefly before walking on.

Steve looked over and saw the muscles in Bucky's right arm vibrating — his face was dripping with sweat. The agents were still within earshot, he knew, because he could hear their voices. Bucky had closed his eyes in concentration. As soon as he thought the agents were gone Steve climbed down and looked out of the bunker.

"They're gone."

He helped Bucky down and let him collapse on the ground. If Steve had wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. to find them, well, that right there had been his opportunity. Turning that bit of information over in his mind he decided he didn't feel guilty. Bucky was up quicker than Steve had expected.

"Let's go," Bucky said.

* * *

The mountains hadn't looked that far away when Steve had set eyes on them back in that first cornfield they'd landed in, but dusk was fast approaching and they still had some way to go. The ploughed earth ahead of him was bunker-free.

"Can't see one, you?"

Bucky shook his head. "Head for that group of trees."

"Okay." Steve checked the skies one last time and then he led the way, Bucky right behind him. By the time they reached the trees a new light had appeared on the horizon and was closing in fast.

Steve studied the light — it had a distinct blue-tinge, one he'd seen many times before. "It think it's Ironman, we need to find better cover fast."

The descending darkness wouldn't conceal their movements, but neither would the trees protect them from Tony's infra-red sensors, so he urged Bucky to make a dash for it across open ground. It wasn't long before Bucky spotted another cluster of bunkers. When they reached it they hurled themselves into the closest one and pressed themselves up against opposing walls. After a few minutes there was a thud accompanied by metallic clunking sounds as Ironman landed nearby, the glow of the arc reactor streaming in through the doorway.

"Bruce, do you read me? Yeah, no, I think it was just a couple of deer or something."

Steve couldn't hear the reply, but he didn't need to hear Bruce's part of the conversation. Tony was saying enough, thankfully.

"I don't know." A pause, then, "The sooner you discover a way to detect vibranium at a distance I'll build the machine and we can all go home!" The blue light was getting brighter and Tony's voice clearer. "We've tried being quiet. So far no Cap and no Winter Soldier. Thought maybe if we just announced ourselves the Winter Solider might try to assassinate us. Yeah, no, this Red Room stuff gives me the creeps. What if the Winter Soldier is in those houses right now creating his own army of brainwashed lackeys?"

Steve clenched his fists at his side. He had to let them know who the Winter Soldier actually was, because if all the Avengers were after them, they really didn't stand much of a chance... and he couldn't risk Bucky's life on the off-chance that he'd be able to evade not only S.H.I.E.L.D., but also all of his team mates. He also knew he couldn't just walk out with his hands in the air without warning Bucky first. The light suddenly dimmed — Ironman might have turned his back on their bunker — and Steve took that chance to step across the floor to stand next to Bucky.

Outside, Tony continued talking to Bruce. "Uh-huh, I hear you, but 'no'."

"Ironman's my team mate, my friend. He trusts me. Listen, I've got to tell Ironman who you are. He'll listen to me," Steve whispered.

"It's bad enough the guy has Cap under his control," Tony said. "I'm just getting flashbacks to Loki is all. No wonder Clint is taking this so personally. Wait, could you give me a minute. I think I heard something." A pause. "Bruce! Send back-up now!"

Steve could hear Tony's footsteps approaching and now he could kick himself for having made a noise. If he started running now he'd have a bit of a head start on Tony and whatever back-up he'd called in, but that was about it. By the sounds of it Tony'd either knock him out or take him in if he caught him. He realized now, too late, that Tony wouldn't believe him if he told him the Winter Soldier was Bucky — not straight away at least. Not if they thought he was under some kind of mind control, especially considering what he'd told Tony back in medical. He'd just believe the Winter Soldier was exploiting his weak spot. Steve reached up to feel the dog tags through his shirt. Of course... maybe he was under the Winter Soldier's mind control. Maybe Bucky was dead after all. The footsteps were getting closer and he still didn't have a decent plan. Damn.

"We've gotta make a run for it," Bucky hissed, pushing Steve towards the bunker's exit. When they were out of the bunker Steve realized too late that Bucky was holding the shield in front of him. Bucky swung his metal arm and launched it full force at Tony. The blue light flickered, but didn't go out. Then the back-up Tony had called in made its presence known: Steve heard a gunshot, but he didn't look in the direction the sound had come from, instead leaping towards Tony, who was lying flat on his back.

"He really does have Cap's shield," Tony was saying. "Shit. Bruce, I don't think I can move my amour right now... attempting system reboot."

"Tony, are you okay?" Steve didn't know what he could do. There was another gunshot and he could hear the sound of voices drawing closer.

"Get the shield!" Bucky shouted. "We've got to go now, before his systems are working again." Steve ignored him.

"Cap," Tony's amour didn't move an inch, but he imagined Tony turning his head slightly inside his helmet. "I know it must all seem real to you, I know you've been brainwashed and can't help it, but please, think. You saw Bucky die. You know this man isn't him."

Bucky grabbed Steve by his shirt collar and tried to yank him to his feet. "Asshole, get up!"

Steve tore his eyes away from Tony, stood up and allowed Bucky to drag him away from his prone team mate. Bucky had shouldered the shield again and was leading the way: he rushed them through a grove of trees, skidded on the pebbled ground beyond and jumped over an agricultural fence to get back onto open ground until they hit a tarmac road, which they followed. Behind them Steve could hear shouting and in the far distance the sound of a Quinjet starting up. Bucky was slowing down.

"C'mon, they're catching up!" Steve urged him on.

"Fuck you!" Bucky shouted back and clamped his metal hand over his right biceps. The gun shots, Steve realized — one of the bullets had hit its target. His throat went dry. They were actually going to kill Bucky if they got a clean line of sight. He'd known that was a possibility, but now they had shot him... thankfully Bucky was carrying the shield on his back, but they needed to shrug off their pursuers, which was going to be difficult once the Quinjet was in the air above them. They also weren't going to get very far on foot.

He was aware that there were likely bunkers in the fields around them, but he wasn't sure how much use that was. They'd be the first places S.H.I.E.L.D. would come looking for them if they left the road now. A single light source was heading right for them on the road. Probably someone on a motorbike, Steve thought.

Bucky waved and then shouted in what was most definitely neither Russian nor English.

The motorcyclist stopped and got off his bike. Steve couldn't understand a word either were saying, but Bucky was shouting back even as he shoved the guy off the road.

"Get on!" Bucky shouted and Steve didn't waste time. His priority was to get Bucky to safety.

"Hold on tight," he told Bucky as he tried to squeeze as much power out of the bike as possible, leaving behind the bike's cursing owner. Bucky was pressed hot against his back with his arms wrapped around his waist, just like old times — except old times hadn't included Bucky being a brainwashed, amnesiac, ex-Soviet assassin. They were close to the mountains, but now S.H.I.E.L.D. knew they were here, was there even any point in finding the complex they'd been heading for? Surely it wouldn't take S.H.I.E.L.D. long to find it, now they knew where to focus their search. The moon was bright in the sky. Ahead of them was a long straight section in the road, so he turned the lights off and hoped his night vision would suffice. It was better than most people's due to the serum and the full moon was high in the sky.

He focused on the road which snaked and wound its way around the mountain's steep slopes. Insects were getting stuck in his mouth; he had to scrunch up his eyes against the air streaking past him. They'd have to get off the bike any minute now or the Quinjet would catch up with them.

Bucky seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Here!"

Steve dragged the bike off the road and threw it into the bunker Bucky had spotted. When he looked up he caught the moon reflecting off Bucky's arm; he was at the edge of a forested patch on the mountainside. Bucky was looking around wildly, leaping up onto fallen trees and large rocks to get a better overview of the land. The sound of the Quinjet engines was drawing closer and in the distance he could see search lights scanning the forest. Bucky pointed up the mountainside and started clambering up the steep, earthy slope. Steve rushed ahead and reached back for Bucky, who was not beyond being bodily pulled to safety at this point. From the outside it looked just like any of the other bunkers they'd been in: domed, tiny and made of thick concrete. There were no doors or windows, just holes in the concrete. He let go of Bucky who fell to his knees and started searching the ground with his hands.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. "Lift this up!"

Steve grabbed hold of the rusted metal handle and pulled. It was a very large concrete lid and under it blackness. Bucky swung down into it with his metal arm and Steve could just about make out where the handholds were. He followed Bucky and when his head was below surface level reached up and pulled the lid shut behind him. He could feel a metal ring on this side too and used it to make sure the lid was tight. The ground was disturbed though and their footprints were probably all around the bunker. It would be obvious that they'd gone down this hole come daylight, but maybe it would be enough to trick S.H.I.E.L.D. until then.

It was pitch black, the air smelt damp, and he had to listen out for the sounds Bucky was making, so he wouldn't end up kicking him in head by climbing down too fast. Once they were at the bottom of the shaft Bucky grabbed the bag off him and pulled a small flashlight out of it. They were standing in front of a metal door with a keypad. Bucky tapped the code in and the door swung open.

"That door won't stop the Hulk for long," Steve commented.

"It won't have to," Bucky said, already tearing open a metal switchbox of some kind in the corridor beyond. He pressed some buttons, then entered another code onto a keypad there. "Run!"

Bucky grabbed hold of Steve's arm and rushed off down the corridor. The blast threw Steve forward onto his knees and Bucky fell with him. A cloud of dust enveloped them, sending them both into a coughing fit. When Steve had caught his breath again he reached for the flashlight and scanned the corridor. One end was caved in and at the other end was a door. It had a logo on it — a Hydra logo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Relationship:** James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers  
**Other Characters:** Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury  
**Additional Tags and Warnings:** Work In Progress, Warnings May Change, trigger warning: suicide, Trigger warning: strangulation, Trigger warning: internalized homophobia, trigger warning: homophobia, trigger warning: internalized intersexphobia, trigger warning: intersexphobia, violence, intersex!Steve, Intersex, Action & Romance, winter soldier - Freeform, post - Avengers Movie, Eastern Europe

* * *

When they'd broken down the door, they'd found two Hydra guards behind it. They'd been easy enough to take out and were now unconscious, gagged, and tied up securely. When Bucky — or the man who appeared to be Bucky — finished triple checking their restraints he spun round and strode past Steve to the control desk. Steve tensed up.

Clint had said the Winter Soldier was sold off by the Soviets after the fall of the U.S.S.R. . Maybe he was now the property of Hydra. Even if he was Bucky, the story about him escaping from Lukin... all that wasn't necessarily true. Maybe his mission had been to deliver Steve to Hydra. He had to stop thinking of him as Bucky — Tony was right.

"Do you think there's any more of 'em?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Doubt it," the Winter Soldier replied. "This base isn't currently in use. Some guards might try to get in come shift change, but they might just decide to skip work, what with S.H.I.E.L.D. crawling around the mountain. Also, I blew up the main access shaft."

Definitely Bucky's face. Definitely his voice. Steve tried to decide if it was even possible that he was under some kind of mind control when everything about Bucky seemed so real. If it was mind control, he had to give the Winter Soldier some credit, it was a perfect illusion. This was the future though, how did he know for sure that this level of mind control wasn't possible? Thor and Loki had come to Earth, aliens had invaded — could he really afford to dismiss that someone was tricking him into believing Bucky was still alive?

"Can we have more light in here?" Steve asked.

The Winter Soldier flicked some switches on the control panel. "Done."

If you were able to create the illusion in someone's mind that you were a loved one, then the story of not being able to remember anything about your life together was incredibly convenient, wasn't it? He reached for his dog tags through the fabric of his shirt.

"Where's the med bay? We need to see to your arm," Steve asked. If he could sedate the Winter Soldier, contact S.H.I.E.L.D., and hand him over alive, then maybe this mess could be cleared up before Hydra showed up and tried to take samples of his blood.

"My arm wouldn't need fixing if you hadn't decided Ironman—"

Steve cut him off by holding his hands up placatingly. "I'm sorry you got shot."

"Oh, Captain America's 'sorry', so everything's fine, right?" the Winter Soldier grumbled. "Asshole."

Inside here, in this underground complex, was probably the best opportunity he'd get to tackle the Winter Soldier. Outside he might've made a run for it and he might've lost him, but in here there were only so many places he could hide if Steve's plans went south. And S.H.I.E.L.D. probably had the mountainside under surveillance by now and was guarding every other exit.

They were able to find a med bay of some kind — or maybe it was a torture chamber. It reminded Steve of the kind of room he'd found Bucky in when Hydra had held him prisoner and experimented on him. He eyed the Winter Soldier, but their surroundings didn't seem to be stirring any memories in him that he could tell. Surely Bucky would've reacted to the room?

It took a while before the water came through the taps and longer still to start running clear. During that time Steve rummaged around in the drawers. There were plenty of syringes and needles still in their plastic wrappers and for once in his life he was glad that everything was written in German — if it had been in the local language (which he was starting to suspect was likely Albanian) he'd have been completely lost.

"I've found some bandages and a sewing kit. What're you lookin' for?" the Winter Soldier asked.

"Somethin' for the pain. This might hurt."

The Winter Soldier snorted. "I'm used to pain."

Ah, morphine, that would do the trick. The vials were tiny. That meant you were supposed to use the entire vial up, right? He'd have to inject the morphine into muscle, rather than directly into the bloodstream, so it wouldn't be as potent. Two vials should knock out the Winter Soldier. 'Should' being the word that was making Steve's throat constrict. The labels gave no indication on the dosage and he knew an overdose would be deadly. Suddenly he was a whole lot less sure about this great plan of his, because if this was Bucky... well, if he was Bucky, this was still the best course of action, he told himself. They were surrounded; they had no way of escaping. Sooner or later S.H.I.E.L.D. would storm this base, and they'd already showed that they'd shoot Bucky the moment they saw him. If Bucky was conscious when they stormed the base he'd die in a hail of bullets.

"Problem?" The Winter Soldier was looking over his shoulder.

"I can't read German," he lied.

The assassin inspected one of the vials. "I'd rather not." He tossed it back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Steve still had a couple of vials in his hand and a syringe ready to fill. He looked over his shoulder — the Winter Soldier was washing his hands. It was easy to fill the syringe with two vials worth; it would be a lot harder to inject his 'patient'. He placed the syringe out of sight. The Winter Soldier had unstrapped the shield and tucked it into a corner; now he was sitting down in a chair and so Steve got on his knees next to him so the assassin wouldn't need to angle his arm in an awkward way while he cleaned it.

"Thanks, Steve." Buck— the Winter Soldier's voice was tight and his eyes closed. As Steve pulled the needle through the hot flesh the Winter Soldier clenched his jaw against the pain. This was his chance to get that syringe, before his resolve failed him. He quickly grabbed it and was back stitching the wound tight within a couple of seconds.

"Just needed some more gauze," Steve explained.

He clenched his jaw and held his breath while he slipped the syringe into position under and behind the Winter Soldier's arm to keep it out of sight, in case he did open his eyes.

"Last stitch. This might sting a little," he said and pulled the previous stitch tight quickly so it would hurt and used that moment to inject the morphine into the Winter Soldier's arm right by the wound. "Careful now." He kept a tight grip on the wounded arm as he pulled the needle out and placed it on the floor behind him.

"Was it necessary to make it that painful?" the assassin asked, grimacing.

"Yeah, but the pain won't last long."

As Steve slowly wrapped the wound he was reminded of similar situations during the war, out in the field, when they'd quickly had to tend to each other's injuries. He'd always made sure he was the one to care for Bucky's if he could. The Winter Soldier leant back in the chair breathing heavily for a few minutes. Eventually he used his metal arm to heave himself upright, but he started to keel over and Steve had to steady him with both arms. Their faces were close and the Winter Soldier looked at him, but his gaze seemed unfocused — clearly the morphine was already kicking in. Should it be working so quickly? Maybe he had injected him with far too much. Steve felt the cold touch of metal fingers at the nape of his neck as he was pulled flush against the other man.

"In the warehouse, when I kissed you," the assassin said, "it made me remember some things. Like... holding you in my arms in bed. We were small, you especially. Your back was pressed against my chest. I was scared. Was concentrating on your breathing."

All efforts to think of him as the Winter Soldier rather than Bucky were in vain now, Steve knew. "Yeah, we didn't have heat in the winter and I'd often get ill."

Steve's heart was beating hard in his chest, painfully so. Doctor Khan wouldn't have released him early if she'd known he'd be running around Europe rather than resting in bed, he thought.

"You did that for me too," Bucky continued, his voice quieter now. "In a tent. You held me an' I felt safe in your arms."

Steve nodded. A lump was forming in his throat and tears pricked his eyes. God damnit, what had he just done? He should've thought of some other way, a better alternative to the morphine...

"You got injured. During the war," Steve said as he tightened his arms around Bucky in a hug, steadying him further. "The wound was infected and we needed to get you some penicillin, but we were hundreds of miles behind enemy lines."

"I remembered another time too. I came home drunk," Bucky whispered. Tears fell from Steve's eyes at the word 'home' — he bit down on his lip trying to retain some semblance of control over his emotions. Bucky laid his head on Steve's shoulder. "I stumbled around our apartment tryin' to get my shirt off. You helped me in the end. I climbed into bed next to you an' held you tight. You didn't protest or push me away although my breath I must've reeked of alcohol and my hair of cigarette smoke."

Steve swallowed. "Yeah, you used to do that sometimes."

"I remember kissin' you. An' I wanna remember more... ."

Hooking an arm under Bucky's left shoulder he maneuvered him onto a bed in the far corner of the room. He collapsed onto the floor next to it as he watched Bucky roll over and fall asleep. The sight left Steve gasping for air and wiping the tears from his face. What had he done? If he'd given Bucky an overdose he'd never forgive himself.

Once he'd taken a few deep breaths to calm himself and clear his mind he put a hand to Bucky's neck to check his pulse. At that moment the door creaked behind him.

"Und wer sind Sie? Hände wo Ich sie sehen kann!"

Since the man had a gun pointed at him Steve did as he was told and slowly raised his hands above his head, though he didn't answer the question about who he was straight away. The man's uniform marked him as a Hydra officer and clearly he was German — so not locally hired muscle like the guards, Steve thought: the guards hadn't spoken German, at least not when they'd called out to each other.

"Ein Freund. Heil Hydra," Steve replied eventually not knowing for sure if the Hydra of the future had a similar protocol to the Hydra of his time, where it was common to identifying yourself as 'friend'. Steve knew he wouldn't pass for a Kraut, of course, but he didn't need to. He just needed to convince the man he wasn't the enemy and considering the man had stopped to ask questions first, rather than shooting him on sight, his chances were probably good. If the fate of the guards had been known to the Hydra officer he would've just shot both of them already.

"Identifikazion?" the officer prompted, taking a step closer.

Steve shook his head, but carefully indicated with his head towards Bucky's still form. If the Winter Soldier was as notorious as Clint had made him out to be, then maybe this man would recognize the metal arm and the markings on it. He had several stories ready, depending on how the German reacted to the Winter Soldier. Including the story that was his fist in the man's face.

The officer's eyes went wide and he shifted his aim from Steve to Bucky.

Not what Steve had wanted. "The Winter Soldier works for Hydra now," he explained in his accented German. "I'm American, but I'm Hydra. S.H.I.E.L.D. captured the Winter Soldier. I freed him."

"Tell me in English what happened here. I don't have all day time to wait that you explain the situation to me in German," the officer replied in passable English — it was more fluent than Steve's spoken German at any rate.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has the whole mountain surrounded, sir. They'll storm the base any minute. With all due respect, there's simply no time for detailed explanations. We have to get the Winter Soldier out of here now or he'll fall into their hands."

"Yes, I noticed S.H.I.E.L.D. — and the Avengers too. A bit much just to attack a deserted base, we thought, which is why I was sent here to activate the self-destruct sequence. We have five minutes and counting. It makes sense now though." He nodded his head towards Bucky. "But how do I know you're not one of them?"

Self-destruct...? Of course he shouldn't be surprised that they'd rigged the whole base with dynamite after Bucky had blown up the entrance tunnel. It changed things though. He couldn't take out this guy and then wait for S.H.I.E.L.D. to rescue him and Bucky.

"If S.H.I.E.L.D. could get in, they'd be all over this base right now," Steve answered. "I'm with the Winter Soldier. Can you get us out of here or not?" The officer's eyes narrowed and Steve made a guess at what he was thinking. "Once more meaning no disrespect, sir, but you need me to carry him. He's heavy."

The man nodded curtly. "Okay. Pick him up and follow me. We leave the way I arrived. One wrong move and I shoot you dead, understand that."

"Yes, sir."

Before he lifted Bucky up over one of his shoulders he checked his pulse again. While it seemed slow, it was there and he was breathing steadily, although each breath was shallow.

The officer turned to him with thin lips. "Quick! This place blows up soon."

He didn't dare even glance towards the nook his shield was resting in and if he hadn't needed to carry Bucky and Hydra agents didn't have a habit of killing themselves with cyanide capsules hidden in their teeth, he'd have made at least an attempt to disarm the officer and force him to lead them to safety. As it was though... he'd have to sacrifice the shield. Steve gritted his teeth and followed the man through a maze of corridors until they reached a rusty steel elevator that took them deep down into the mountain. When it finally hit the ground the air was hot and rank.

"An old mine shaft that was extended to a nearby village," the officer explained. Above the boom of explosions echoed in the elevator shaft and he felt the vibrations through the soles of his shoes. The officer led the way with a powerful flashlight. Steve had to duck, as the ceiling was low. It put additional strain on his muscles to walk like that while carrying Bucky, so by the time they'd been walking about five minutes he was already drenched in sweat.

"You are not tiring already, donkey?" the man asked.

Steve felt a flash of anger, but he suppressed it. Not important, he told himself. Getting Bucky to safety, that's all that mattered.

They reached a trap door that led into the cellar of what appeared to be a busy eating establishment. The Hydra officer had the place cleared out before Steve brought Bucky upstairs. When he'd laid him onto one of the benches in the tavern Bucky stirred a little and Steve swore it was due to the smell of the food. Some things never changed, Steve thought with a small smile on his lips.

The officer was on the phone and talking to people — in German, thankfully, so Steve listened in. He might not be able to speak fluently in German himself, but he understood every word that was said. It seemed S.H.I.E.L.D. had their hands full with the mountain complex blowing up on them, so he was being advised to simply get in his car and drive to some place where other Hydra agents would meet him. Steve could either knock him out, take his car and drive towards the mountain to attract S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention, or he could drive in the opposite direction and get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. . Bucky's breathing and pulse was steady, he didn't need S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doctors. What would happen to Bucky at S.H.I.E.L.D.?

They'd help him get his memories back, they'd deprogram him and they'd be able to live together in Brooklyn. That's if Ulanov didn't get Bucky or him killed. And since Ulanov was the one who had the expertise to deprogram Bucky... even if he entertained the idea that Ulanov wouldn't be a problem... without Ulanov's help, how long would it take S.H.I.E.L.D. to get rid of the command he'd planted? Bucky might spend months locked up in a high security cell with people prodding around in his mind, experimenting on him and who knew what else. The thought of that tore at Steve's heart and he knew then that he couldn't do it — he couldn't deliver Bucky into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. There had to be a way to break the programming, since Bucky hadn't killed him yet. And he could attempt to persuade Bucky to turn himself in, but he wouldn't, couldn't be the one to take away Bucky's freedom or risk his life. No, he'd take care of Bucky himself.

* * *

**Four hours later somewhere in Serbia**

If Steve wasn't too preoccupied with trying to pry a metal hand off his neck he might have reflected on his life choices. As it was, all he could concentrate on was the burning in his oxygen starved lungs. He jerked his hips, trying to dislodge Bucky who was straddling him and pinning him to the ground, but the grip on his neck only tightened in response. Grey spots were appearing at the edges of his vision, his hearing was already gone and as his sense of where up and down was failed him he distantly realized that he'd stopped struggling.

When he came to again he was in the same spot as before: his shoulder blades were digging into the hard ground and the Milky Way was bright in the sky overhead. The sound of the car's motor still running let him know that he likely hadn't been out for more than a minute or two.

"Steve?" It sounded like Bucky was a couple of yards away from him. He looked around and spotted him leaning against a road sign.

"I'm okay," he replied hoarsely.

"You need to leave or I'll kill you. Get far away from me."

"You'll kill me right now?"

"No, but next time. Maybe tomorrow or next week... . I'm too dangerous."

Steve lay back down on the ground and closed his eyes. The road-side grass rustled as Bucky strode towards him and sat down next to him.

"Tell me what happened," Bucky said.

Steve considered whether it was a good idea or not to tell him about the morphine, but in the end he told him the whole story — including his reasons for not handing him over to S.H.I.E.L.D. . When he'd finished talking he felt Bucky's fingers brush his wrist.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Steve asked, his voice quiet and matter of fact. Bucky's fingers were stroking his now, but the question hung unanswered in the cool night air between them. "You know why I haven't — and won't — hand you over to S.H.I.E.L.D. . There's a reason why you haven't killed me, Bucky. And all I need to know is if there's any chance of that reason fading from your mind in the near future. Cause if not, I'm gonna stick by you and help you as much as I can."

Bucky entangled their fingers and squeezed tight. "Okay then. Get up. Where're we anyway?"

"I think we're in Yugoslavia now. I avoided the marked border crossings from Albania, got us into Yugoslavia on back roads, but I didn't know... well, there was another border crossing. I turned around, found another route, but they might've contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. ."

"Yugoslavia ain't one country anymore. And that car's gotta have a bunch of Hydra trackers in it, so we're being followed for sure. How far are we from Belgrade?"

"400 kilometers. We're almost out of gas though."

Bucky shrugged. "Need to get rid of the car anyway."

Steve looked up at the stars. "Don't suppose there's any chance of a hot meal in the near future?"

They ditched the car, kept off the roads and walked for hours until sunrise. Then they started searching for a suitable place to camp and soon came across a hunting hut that seemed to be unoccupied. Bucky effortlessly snapped the padlock on the door with his metal fingers.

"I'll get a fire going—" Steve began.

"And I'll go get us some food," Bucky cut in, unsheathing a knife.

Steve simply nodded and stepped further into the hut, ostensibly to look for a lighter, but the truth was that he didn't want to risk being near Bucky — although the knife likely wasn't meant for him this time. Once Bucky had left, Steve collapsed into a small wooden chair in the corner of the hut and massaged his neck. It would bruise, he knew, even if the bruises would be faint and would heal quickly. He told himself he'd get up again and light that fire, but this wasn't an emergency situation, they weren't in the midst of an operation or a battle, so his body had other thoughts and moments later he was asleep.

He awoke to find a thin woolen blanket around his shoulders and the smell of cooked meat in the air.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," Bucky said handing him a glass of water. "Boiled it, so it's still warm."

"Thanks. Sorry 'bout falling asleep." He could tell his voice still sounded a bit hoarse.

"You needed rest. Here, eat something quick. We gotta keep moving."

Steve didn't need telling twice, he wolfed down a small bowl full of hare meat and followed it with another glass of water. There hadn't been much of use in the hut, apart from the blanket, so they took that with them and continued their trek.

* * *

"We're not robbing a bank when I have a perfectly good bank card in my pocket," Steve protested.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is probably tracking that account," Bucky shot back. "And besides, bank's closed."

"And they won't check out a safe that's been smashed open with an iron fist?"

"I was gonna be a bit more subtle than that. I know how to get past alarm systems. We'll likely have at least 'til the morning before the theft's reported."

Steve nodded curtly. "Fine. I'll stay here on lookout. Be quick."

Steve stood in a dark, narrow alleyway and looked out from the cover of darkness into the street. He could see the bank on the opposite side of the road clearly. It was the middle of the night and the streets in this more residential part of the town were deserted, but you never knew... he watched the bank's windows for any signs of Bucky. He told himself he'd get S.H.I.E.L.D. to take care of the damages once this whole episode was over.

After a couple of minutes he heard the faint sound of a Quinjet. Damn. He leapt across the road and tapped the bank's door. Nothing. He tapped again. Then the door slid to one side and Bucky dashed out. He'd bundled up something in the blanket they'd taken from the hunter's hut, so presumably he'd gotten them some cash.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. are close, they're coming right for us," Steve said, grabbing Bucky and dragging him back into the alleyway he'd been in earlier. "Maybe you set off a silent alarm?"

"No, I didn't. How'd they get a Quinjet to us that quick anyway? They must've been on our heels way before we entered the town."

"Then how do they know we're here?"

"I took out all the bugs they'd fitted into my arm before we got to Europe. But... "

"But what?" The sound of the jet's engines were getting louder.

"My arm. It's got some high spec Soviet space technology in it. Installed in the late 80s. It's possible that with Doctor Ulanov's help they were able to... somehow use that to find our location."

Steve stared as his arm. "Shit."

"Help me take it off." He handed Steve a knife and raised his metal arm up high. It didn't take long for him to detach it in part from his body, but some cables and tubes still connected it in places. "Use the knife." Bucky closed his eyes and looked away. Each wire Steve cut caused Bucky to wince, but when it came to the largest one Bucky let out a pained yelp. Steve didn't want to think about how painful that cut had to have been for Bucky to cry out like that. He laid the metal arm on the ground carefully, telling himself that Bucky would get it back again... when all this was over — and he wondered how many more times this night he'd have to make use of that phrase to coax himself into doing something he absolutely did not want to do.

They bolted down the alleyway away from the bank (and the arm), heading instead towards the town center. Music was blearing loudly from some sort of bar and Bucky dragged them into it. Immediately they were the center of attention.

"Dobro veče!" Bucky said.

"Is there a language you don't speak?"

Bucky ignored him and continued talking. Steve wasn't sure how much threatening exactly was involved, but people started stripping off various items of clothing from jackets to jeans and handing them to Steve. At the end Bucky threw a wad of cash at them and motioned for Steve to follow him through to the back and into the bar's toilets. They washed their hands and faces and changed into the clean clothes. Steve turned his back on Bucky when he changed his pants. He wasn't sure how much Bucky remembered, and he'd rather not have to talk about the pair of socks in his underwear.

"How do I look?" Bucky asked, a cocky grin on his face.

There was no hiding that Bucky was now one armed, but they were less recognizable than before and would be able to walk around town without drawing everyone's attention. Without the kohl around his eyes, in civilian clothes, and wearing that expression, he looked exactly like the Bucky Barnes he'd known. Steve didn't lean forward to plant a kiss on his lips, as he might have done in the past and suddenly it felt awkward not to kiss him.

"You look good," he said simply, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. "Let's get outta here."

They hotwired a car and drove until they reached Belgrade.

* * *

"Well, team, how about finding all of you here?" Tony said in the darkness of the alleyway. They'd all been assigned to help out on different S.H. .D. teams, but Natasha had called them all together for an Avengers-only meeting.

Natasha picked up the metal arm. "What if it's not mind control? What if it really is James Barnes?"

"How can he still be alive?" Tony argued back, grabbing the arm. Natasha didn't let go of it and so he let her have it.

"Yasha is Russian for James. I only knew him as the Winter Solider, but the man I knew... he was a good man. When I last saw him in the late 90s he still believed the KPSS were in power. I don't think they knew how he'd react if he found out they weren't, so we were all under strict instructions to keep our mouths shut on the matter. The Red Room first started working with him in the 40s, but he was kept in stasis between missions. If Cap says he's James Barnes, then I believe him."

"Cap doesn't know what he's talking about right now!" Tony shot back. "He's walking around with a man who's trying to kill him."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Assuming Cap's alive. The Winter Soldier might've decided his usefulness as a hostage had come to an end. Hulk's still sifting through the wreckage of that mountain base."

"Nah, Clint," Tony replied. "He was so whipped. Why would you kill your own personal super soldier body guard? Cap's useful to him."

"Promise me you won't harm Yasha."

Tony shook his head. "Natasha, if he's endangering Cap's life I don't care if he's Bucky Barnes, J. F. K. or the Queen of England — I'm going to do what's necessary to keep Cap safe. And so should you."

"I'm with Tony on this one," Clint said. "Even if we are dealing with someone who used to be Bucky Barnes, right now he's not that person, we don't know if there's anything of that person still left after the Red Room treatment. I mean, he shot at Cap!"

"You two are being willfully obtuse now. I've said my part. Here Stark, you can have the arm. Keep it safe."


End file.
